


Memory May Be Paradise

by amaradangeli



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on an alien planet, Jack picks up a nasty case of amnesia. At first lost, he must be found and then he must tackle the issue of his missing memories and what that means for his position on SG-1 and for his relationships.<br/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Cover Art by magnavox_23

The planet is hot. It's bright and sunny, maybe a little pretty, but it's damned hot. Inside the buildings they have air conditioning, so when Carter suggests they take their little party into a museum he jumps, for probably the first time in his life, at the opportunity.

"Just don't...  _touch ..._ anything," Daniel warns when they walk into the blessedly cool yet still sunny, thanks to some incredibly energy efficient windows, building.

"I wasn't going to touch anything," Jack weasels just so he can get a smile out of...yep, there it is. Carter's half smile. He likes the full ones better, but he'll take what he can get and she's looking a little wilted around the edges, too.

"You think Teal'c's having a good time?" Daniel asks.

"He's off training with their military force," Jack points out. "He's in hog heaven."

"I wonder what the Jaffa equivalent of 'hog heaven' is," Carter says thoughtfully.

"Porcine afterlife?" Daniel offers and even Jack chuckles.

"Probably."

The trio stops in front of a tall, shiny, pointy looking object. It looks like a dangerous suppository. Jack keeps that observation to himself - it's not the sort of comment that makes Carter smile; it's the sort that turns her mouth into a little moue of irritation with the more ribald side of his humor. She likes most of his jokes, so he doesn't mind skipping the ruder ones. Most of the time. Sometimes he just can't help it.

Like when he sees another large, shiny silver object that looks alarmingly like a butt plug. When he says so, she raises a disapproving eyebrow and starts to wander off. "And just how familiar with butt plugs are you, sir?" she asks making his jaw drop. She doesn't normally go right to the suggestive jokes but he likes it when she does.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Hmm, maybe not."

But he doesn't like when she shuts him down. Though he figures he didn't really want to walk down the road of the butt plug conversation anyway. But there's a little smile playing around her mouth, though, so the whole thing worked out in his favor. Two Carter smiles and he wasn't even really trying yet.

It's a fun game, on cakewalk missions, to find out how many times he can make her smile in one day. There were a few days during the time-loops when he got up into the high double digits - not too bad. And the smile on her face when he un-dipped her after that kiss, woo-boy, but he'd love to figure out how to get her to look like that without having to resign again to do it. Not that the thought hasn't crossed his mind a time or two in the intervening weeks since then.

Carter stops walking in front of an exhibit that looks like a small version of Earth's space shuttle. "It's a space museum!" she exclaims, suddenly delighted and smiling broadly. Yeah, now that's what he likes. "I wish we could read the placards."

"Yeah, you'd think that if they spoke English they could at least write in it," Jack commiserates.

"It's not their first language," Daniel points out, "Why would they bother when everyone speaks the native language?"

"We don't."

"We don't live here, Jack."

Jack just shrugs.

"It looks like they explored their moon, too," Carter breaks in and indicates something that vaguely resembles Earth's lunar lander. "It's interesting to see how we've done so many similar things."

"Well, they're not  _that_  more advanced than we are," Daniel points out. "Chances are they'd find the same things about their history fascinating that we do about ours."

"Except they've been traveling by Stargate, and have been visited by alien races, for a thousand years. You wouldn't think the moon would be so fascinating at that point."

"You think we wouldn't have wanted set foot on our moon just because we could travel to other planets? We're people. We want to explore everything."

"I'd still go to the moon," Jack says, "You know, if I had a chance."

"Even with everything you've seen?" Carter asks.

"It's the  _moon,_ Carter," he says as if it explains everything.

She cracks another small smile, "Yes, sir."

He's up to three. Four if he counts the one she gave him when he said yes to the museum.

They peruse the rest of the exhibits finding several things that look like their Earth counterparts and a few other things they can figure out but don't look anything like what they've used on Earth. It takes them just over an hour to look at everything, then they walk through a corridor into another exhibit hall and suddenly everything looks like it's from the future.

"Whoa," Jack says and whistles lowly, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

"What do you think all this is?" Carter asks reverently.

"I have no idea," Daniel says and starts trying to read the placards with little luck. He's gotten okay with their spoken language, but he's only been looking at the symbols for a couple of days.

At one particularly interesting object, Jack forgets himself and reaches out to touch. He's knocked back on his ass with a jolt, "Christ on a crutch!"

Carter reaches down a hand to help him up, "Are you okay, sir?" He got to touch her, hell, he's on cloud nine!

"Yeah," he says, checking himself internally and externally, "yeah, I'm fine. What the hell was that, Daniel?"

"I don't know," Daniel says and starts peering at the placard as if that could make reading it easier. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Jack grouses.

"I think it's time to meet Teal'c," Carter says with a glance at her watch.

So they all make their way back to the military training area in time to watch Teal'c put some poor soldier down in a hand-to-hand bout. When Teal'c's done and showered the four return to their accommodations in time to clean up for yet another fancy dinner during which Carter smiles at him four more times.

Afterwards, it's a walk under a starlit sky back to their rooms and Jack thinks it would almost be nice if it weren't for their two chaperones. Carter laughs for him once and that totally makes his day, even if they have passed well into evening.

Back in his — private — room, there are perks on this planet, he takes a shower and then stretches out on the bed. He's a little stiff through the back thanks to the way he hit the floor earlier, but he's still feeling all right. After watching the local version of the news — broadcast in a language he doesn't understand — he turns off his bedside lamp, rolls over and goes to sleep.


	2. Chapter 1

The rocking motion jolts him into awareness. Around him, people are speaking in a foreign language. Through the windows, a city rushes by. There's a screen he can't read but something that looks like words and maybe times is displayed.

Across from him a woman holds a baby. He looks at her intently. Does he know her? His scrutiny makes her uncomfortable; she meets his eyes momentarily, then shifts them away and holds her baby closer.

There are two young men talking a mile a minute. One breaks into a raucous laugh that makes other, old men, look up from newspapers and scowl.

Outside, the cityscape is still whizzing by. A chime sounds, a voice comes over a loudspeaker, and the cityscape starts to slow. The view is replaced by concrete. A station. He's on a train.

When the train stops at a platform he pushes his way off the train with all the other people. Better off than on, until he figures out where he is. He follows the throng of people who also exited the train. He doesn't know which way to go but he figures the people will lead him back into daylight. A few twists and turns, a single flight of stairs and the hot sun hits his face.

More signs he can't read - why can't he read them? - but people moving in every direction. It's familiar even if he can't quite place it. He knows it's commuting, but he can't quite figure out where he is. There's a quick flash in his mind of something similar in a different place but it's gone before he can focus on it.

Near him, two people exchange introductions, names and smiles. Which makes him think of his name. Except...he can't. He doesn't know his name? That can't be right. So he thinks harder. Nope, not there. Okay, okay, no name, no location, it's not good.

Most of the people he got off the train with seem to be going right, towards the taller buildings. He goes right, too.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He walks up and down the alleys between the tall buildings waiting for something to look familiar. Nothing really does. It just looks like a city, though he can't recall any specific city, even this one. Aside from the train, how did he get here? Why is he here?

He stops a man who doesn't look in too big a hurry. "Which city is this?" he asks but the man just shakes his head and raises his hands in the universal signal for 'I don't understand you.' He's at least a little relieved that some sort of communication is possible. He finds something that looks like a coffee shop and sticks his hands in his pockets, nothing. No money. No coffee. But... he's not even sure if he really wanted the coffee anyway. It smells pretty good, though. He leaves.

People are walking in every direction so he doesn't try to go with any flow, he just keeps walking hoping something will look familiar, even vaguely. Most people appear like they're heading somewhere in particular. He starts to follow a woman in a suit, someone who looks like she's going to an office. She steps into a tall, glass building. He goes in, too. He's confronted by a bank of elevators, but he has no destination in mind. He walks back out.

There's a man in a red uniform across the street. He waits until other people cross and walks across with the flow. He must look confused, because the man in the uniform puts a hand out and stops him. The Uniform says something like, "Helman post sound grocery sidewalk." He just shakes his head. What does that even mean? Uniform tries again, "Lo tau'ri?"

"Tau'ri?" he says, excited because he recognizes the word.

"Mak?" the uniform tries.

He shakes his head. Damn. He doesn't understand that either.

Once more the uniform tries, "What is wrong?"

Finally! "Where am I?"

"This is Levpow. Are you okay, sir?"

He shakes his head, "I don't know how I got here."

"Where are you supposed to be?"

"I don't know."

The uniform moves them out of the flow of traffic to stand next to a brick-ish building. "What is your name?"

He tries again to think of his name, he tries hard, but finally has to admit, "I don't know."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He's been brought to a police station, he thinks. There are lots of men and women in red uniforms, like the man he found on the street. There's a lot of hustle and bustle and several people in street clothes sit next to desks and in chairs against one wall.

He's directed to sit down next to a desk. So he does, a little relieved to be somewhere he's supposed to be, somewhere by invitation.

"Do you have identification?" the policeman asks.

He pats his pockets looking for, anything really. "I don't think so."

"What is this, around your neck?" The policeman reaches out and lifts a silver chain away from his chest. There are words embossed on it. "O'Neill," the policeman reads, "Jonathan J." and then a number.

O'Neill Jonathan J. It sounds familiar. "I'm O'Neill," he says, trying it on for size. Yes, that's definitely right. A sense of euphoria passes over him. "Yeah. I'm O'Neill." It conjures up a flash of something in his eyes. An angled face, grey hair, brown eyes. It's him. It's him!

"Okay, O'Neill," the policeman says, "we'll see if we can find out where you belong."

Some searching turns up nothing. Apparently he doesn't live in this city, or in any of the surrounding areas. He has no home, no real identification, there's not much they can do for him.

"I'll take you Matra. She will be able to help," the policeman decides.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Matra runs a sort of halfway house but has no other tenants. "You are O'Neill," she says and it makes him want to collapse with relief that someone says it with such surety, and then he realizes she's only been repeating what she's been told.

"Yeah," he says, a little less sure, but it still sounds right so he sticks with it.

"I have seen this before," she says. "You have taken the drugs. Probably the farmisha. I have seen this before," she says again.

Maybe that's what's happened. He took the farmisha and now he has no idea who he is. It happens, apparently.

"You will sleep in the green room," she says and leads him up a narrow set of stairs and into a small, puke-green room that feels like something is still wrong.

"You don't know me?" he asks even though he's sure he already knows the answer.

"I know you have no place to go. But you'll sleep here, in the green room."

She leaves him there, alone. The policeman has long since left him in the care of Matra but she seems unimpressed by his predicament. But, then, she's seen this before.

A couple of hours later she calls up the staircase that it's time for dinner. She serves things he's unfamiliar with and he tastes it all until he finds a sort of pea dish that agrees with his taste buds.

When dinner is over, he goes back to the green room where he sits alone and turns the metal tags with his name over and over in his hands. He memorizes the numbers and reads the words 'O'Neill, Jonathan J.' over and over again until they sound less like a good idea and more like his name.


	3. Chapter 2

He's awake but it feels like he's dreaming. In the doorway stands a man with floppy brown hair, dressed like him in some sort of military uniform, only tan instead of green.

"Who are you?" he asks the man, but by the time the question is out of his mouth, the man has turned and left the room.

He flies from the bed to the door, runs out into the hallway; he can't see the man. He thunders down the stairs. The man is nowhere to be seen. He presses his face against the window in the door, wondering if it's possible the man already made it onto the street.

Matra sits in a chair in the front room watching television. "Who was that?" he asks her frantically.

"There was no one," she says pragmatically. "You should sleep off the farmisha, O'Neill."

Back in his room he sits on the bed, grasping his knees against his chest. The man was there! Solid as a wall in the doorway, he knows the man was there. He waits, but the man doesn't come back. He feels like he must be cracking up.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Later there's a black man. Big and imposing. Some sort of gold emblem on his head. The man speaks, "O'Neill," then says nothing further. The voice is familiar, the figure is not, but he holds on to it.

The man steps into the room and he scoots further back on the bed, away from the stranger even if the voice is tantalizing. He blinks and the man is gone. Tentatively he gets up and looks out into the hallway, unsure if he should give chase. He decides against it - what good would it do? - and turns to go back to the bed.

Between him and the furniture is a man in camouflage who just stands in the room and screams. He covers his ears with his hands, curses the screaming man, and chalks it all up to the farmisha.

At one point there's a voice, a voice that makes him calm. It's a woman and she's talking about things he doesn't understand. He likes her. She makes him feel settled, a little centered. But then her voice fades away even as he stretches his hearing towards it.

Then, he's alone.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Matra comes back when it's time for breakfast. He doesn't know where the night went, he's not sure if he slept. He's not sure, then, if the people were dreams or something else. Breakfast is more food he doesn't recognize and the pea dish isn't on the table. He settles for something crispy and a little sweet. It doesn't satisfy.

Back in his room, he's visited by a bald man in blue. "Get ahold of yourself, son."

"Do you know who I am?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Do you know where I live?" he asks desperately.

"You have to get home."

"I want to. Just tell me where to go."

"Find the others."

"What others?"

The man leaves. Again, he flies out of the room and down the stairs. Matra comes into the entry from the dining room, "What?"

"The man who was just here?"

"I told you there was no one."

"No, not before. Just now. Who was he?"

"No one has been to see you. It is the farmisha. I will make you some tea." She turns and leaves him standing there.

Confused, he returns to his room and awaits the tea.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

At dinner, the black man sits at the table with him and Matra. "Are there others?" he asks the man.

"Other what?"

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "Other people?"

"There were no other people with you," Matra says before sipping her tea.

"I will help you, O'Neill."

"Thank you," he says, feeling some measure of relief. "The man in blue? He knew who I was."

"There was no man in blue," Matra says.

"I know who you are, as well, O'Neill. You do not know me?"

"No, I don't? What is your name?"

The man just looks at him then leaves the table. By now he knows better than to follow.

"No!" he shouts and pounds his fist down on the wood hard enough to make the dishes jump. "Why would he leave?"

Matra sighs, "There was no one here but me and you."

"There was a man," he points to the now empty seat, "sitting  _right_  there! He knows who I am."

She shakes her head. "No."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In the middle of the night two men in black combat gear show up. "You O'Neill?" one of them asks.

"Yeah," he croaks, voice thick with sleep.

"Time to move."

He climbs out of bed and pulls on the only clothes he has, a green uniform that looks similar to theirs.

"Where are we going?"

"That's classified," the second man says.

That should worry him, he thinks, but anywhere with people who look like him must be better than where he is now. They all creep quietly out of the room then down the stairs. They make it out the front door before the light switches on.

"O'Neill!" Matra calls from the top of the stairs, dressing gown clutched tight at her throat. "You cannot go out at night!"

He looks over his shoulder, the men in uniform are gone. He sags. He doesn't know where he was supposed to have followed them to. Why didn't they wait for him? Were they figments of his imagination? A lucid dream? Lost, he goes back into the house and up the stairs. When he reaches the landing, she flicks the light back off and he goes back into his green room and slips back into his bed, fully dressed. Just in case.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning two more men arrive during breakfast, only these men aren't in black combat gear. "You are O'Neill," one of them says, sure.

"Yes," he says anyway.

"You need to come with us, sir."

"Where are we going?

"You must see a doctor," Matra tells him.

A doctor, okay, sure. Maybe the guy can help with the whole memory issue. The farmisha must be out of his system by now but he still can't remember a thing. Except that woman's voice.

"Do you have any belongings?" one man asks.

"He has nothing besides what he is wearing," Matra says.

"Then it is time for us to go," the second man says.

The men load him into a small, white vehicle and they drive through the city until they approach a low, grey building. He doesn't feel good about this low, grey building. He is not, however, a man with many options.

Docilely enough, though, he follows them inside and then down a long hall, past rooms, some with closed doors and some with open, filled with people who are alternately quiet, or keening, or raising an all-out ruckus. They show him to a small white room with nothing but a small mattress on a metal frame.

"The doctor will be with you shortly," one man tells him. He nods and they leave him. When they go, they close the door and he hears a lock snick into place.

He doesn't have a good feeling about this at all.


	4. Chapter 3

The doctor introduces himself as Tamil Aharvey and tells him to use whichever name he prefers. "You are O'Neill Jonathan J., according to your identification tags," the doctor mentions and he wonders why they're going over the only piece of information he actually has - the only piece of information that hasn't been question about why or where or what it means - when they should be trying to figure out more. Like why he's still a stranger to himself after the farmisha has surely left his system. The doctor doesn't comment further on the tags and though he continues to wonder where they've come from he assumes they're usual or at least not abnormal or perhaps the doctor would care more about them.

He mentions Matra's farmisha theory and Dr. Aharvey nods his head. "I have seen this many times before, visitors come, they try the farmisha, but they have too much and the farmisha steals their memories. Do not worry, the memories, they come back."

"How long does that usually take?"

"Can take days," the doctor says with a shrug as if there's really no reason to worry. It's been two days, he thinks, since he came to on that train. "It's the hallucinations that have been troubling Matra."

"Hallucinations? The people... they've been hallucinations?!" He knew something hadn't been right, but to think they'd all been aberrations was... well, a little tough to handle. Not that he'd thought Matra had any reason to be lying to him, but it had all seemed so... real. Even still, if they hadn't been real he'd have thought them dreams, day dreams maybe, but hallucinations?

He'd assumed he knew the people who had come to him, especially when he thought they'd been real - like the man in the tan uniform. There was the black man who seemed to know him. And the man in the blue uniform. And the woman's voice, the voice he was sure he knew. But it could have been anything, just his mind playing tricks on him.

The doctor said goodbye and left, promising to check back in later that day, and he locked the door behind him when he left.

Locked doors. Those weren't feeling too good at the moment. Locked doors, locked mind, no fucking idea who he was or if the people he saw were memories or tricks of a mind in a drug-induced stupor. He didn't feel like he was on drugs. He didn't feel like he had  _been_  on drugs. Not that he's certain he'd know what either thing felt like. Maybe he was such a habitual drug user he didn't feel any different than he normally would.

Still, that doesn't sound right. It doesn't  _feel_  right. Of course, the only reason he knows his name is O'Neill is because a piece of metal around his neck says that is his name. So, what does he know?

His name. He knows his name.

And he knows Matra.

He knows Dr. Tamil Aharvey.

He knows he doesn't live in Levpow.

And, he knows that woman's voice. He hears her again, babbling,  _again_ , about things he doesn't understand. He closes his eyes so he can focus on the sounds and rhythms of her speech and he gets a flash of brilliant blue eyes and he knows, with utter certainty, they go with the voice.

If he can remember those eyes and he can remember her voice, why can't he remember anything else? These people keep telling him it's the farmisha, but he doesn't think he took it. And, if he did, it would surely have worked its way out of his system by now.

Maybe it's a conspiracy. Maybe they want him for something. He doesn't really know any of these people. They could be anyone, could want anything.

A nurse pokes her head in the room, asks him if he needs anything, and insists he take his identification tags off for his own safety. They were fine, he and the nurse, until that very moment. Then, she was in on it, too. They don't want him to know who he is. Why? What do they want with his identity? What are they planning to do when he's no longer O'Neill?

She insists, though, and she's got a needle full of something that makes him fuzzy and light headed. When he wakes up his tags are gone. And that's when he pretty well loses his shit.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Elva turns the tags over and over in her hands. O'Neill hadn't wanted to give them up, but psychiatric patients aren't allowed to have anything they might use to cause themselves harm. She had hated to sedate him to take them away, but the doctor had insisted, despite the fact that it didn't seem like the patient was doing too well. He'd been in his room talking aloud to himself since the doctor had left. Elva had gone in when the man's conversation took a turn for the suspicious.

The tags she holds are familiar somehow, as if she's seen them somewhere before. She racks her brain, but where would she have seen them? She isn't widely traveled so even knowing the man is from outside Levpow is unhelpful since she can't decide where his tags might be from. He doesn't speak Grevian, the native language, but his English is perfect. Perhaps he is a visitor from off-world. If that is the case, it will be nearly impossible to find out where he is from. It could be any of hundreds of planets. Thousands.

From O'Neill's room she hears a thud and more yelling. He's been carrying on since he woke up and found his tags gone. He's been screaming for them, for her, since she'd taken them away. Last time she peered in the window of the door to his room she saw he'd overturned the bed and moved it from the center of the room to lean precariously against the far wall. When she'd reported to the doctor he forbade her to go into the room without two orderlies and even then only if it was strictly necessary. So for now she puts up with the yelling and the loud conspiracy theories he's taken to spouting nearly full time.

The tags, though, so familiar. She wishes she could recall where she'd seen him, not just so she could get him off her ward but so she could help him get home. Before she'd taken the tags from him he'd had confused, but kind eyes, a beautiful deep brown she wouldn't have minded looking into for a little longer despite his silver hair and apparent thirty years on her. He was attractive and quite possibly kind when not out of his head on the effects of farmisha, if that truly is what had happened to him. Perhaps someone somewhere was worried about him.

Then, she had a flash of memory. His tags, she  _has_  seen them before. Or, at least, ones very similar. A scientist, from the planet Earth, had been through the labs on a tour not four days ago. She wore the same tags that O'Neill did. Elva's first call is to the council to have them get word to Major Samantha Carter that her partner is in the psychiatric unit of Levpow City Hospital. Her second call is to Dr. Aharvey to let him know she knows what to do with his patient.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam is nearly frantic when she bursts into the hospital's psychiatric wing. The colonel is here, somewhere, after having been missing for three days. She finds a nurses' station.

"I'm looking for Elva," Sam says as calmly as she can manage.

"She is with a patient, but she will only be a moment," the young woman tells her.

It takes everything Sam has to cool her heels for the approximately forty five seconds before another young woman walks toward her. The woman's eyes light up and Sam knows she's found Elva.

"Major Carter!"

"Elva?"

"I am glad you are here."

"Where is he? Can I see him?"

"Perhaps you should sit," Elva says.

"No, thank you."

Elva sighs. "As I mentioned on the phone, his memories have not returned since the use of the farmisha."

"About that," Sam says, "he wouldn't have used  _any_  drugs, not purposely anyway."

"It is an assumption," Elva concedes. "Something else may have happened, but we see this particular reaction often enough to assume the farmisha. It is a tantalizing drug that even the locals are apt to try."

"Not Colonel O'Neill," she insists. "He's not likely to take anything off world when he doesn't know exactly what it is." He'd learned his lesson. "You've said his memories are gone. Completely?"

"He knows only his name and that only because of these tags."

Elva hands over the colonel's dog tags and Sam's hand shakes with leftover adrenaline when she takes them. "Can I see him?"

"I should warn you," Elva says softly, with a seemingly great amount of care, "he was brought here because he was having hallucinations, and since he has been here he has become increasingly paranoid. He believes we are trying to steal his identity. As his delusions became worse, we sedated him. You can see him, but he will likely sleep. And if he wakes," Elva puts a hand on Sam's arm and looks at her with sympathy, "he will not know you."

Sam wonders what kind of relationship the young woman thinks she has with the colonel to be so concerned about how he would react to Sam when she finally saw him. In truth, though, she is mentally preparing herself for the moment when the colonel will look at her with blank eyes. After everything they've been through together, she can't kid herself and say that it won't be difficult.

"When can I see him?" Sam asks again.

"Since he's sedated, the doctor says you can see him whenever you wish."

"Now," Sam says and finds she has to clear her throat. "Now, please."

Elva gives her one last sympathetic look then leads the way to a closed off room. At the door, Elva turns a knob and a lock snicks. Sam immediately feels sick - memories or no, the colonel wouldn't have taken being locked in a hospital room very well. No wonder he'd begun to break. Elva pushes the door into the room and steps aside for Sam to enter.

The colonel lies atop the bed, staring at the ceiling and blinking slowly. She walks into the room, but there is no reaction from the man on the bed. She approaches him, "Colonel?" but still gets no reaction. She tries again, "Colonel, it's Carter." She shrugs one shoulder more for something to do than for anyone's benefit, "Sam." He just gives another slow blink.

"I'm going to sit down here next to you," she tells him before sitting on the edge of the bed at his hip. "We've been really worried about you, sir," she says and tries to keep the tears out of her voice. It isn't like her to react this way, she isn't sure why she can't hold it together. She continues to talk to him, just to see if she can get a reaction, "You've been gone for three days. General Hammond sent an S&R team. Daniel's been playing diplomat; we didn't know what to think." Still he just lies there, blinking slowly.

She tries very hard, and it takes everything she has to hold it together

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The voice, it's back. The voice that conjures up the image of blue eyes. But it isn't talking to him about things he doesn't understand. It seems to belong to somebody who knows him. Someone who's been worried about him. It is a woman who is trying very hard not to cry over him. Finally. He closes his eyes with relief.

Finally.

He turns his head to her and catches sight of a beautiful face, short blonde hair, and the most vividly blue eyes. He smiles a little, so does she. "You're the eyes," he says and she looks confused, but happy. He clears his throat. "Who are you?"

He watches as her beautiful face falls and her vivid blue eyes fill with tears.


	5. Chapter 4

Eventually she convinces him to knock off the hostility towards the hospital staff and let go of his conspiracy theories. He still doesn't know who she is, but she seems intent on springing him from the joint, so whatever she thinks is best is what he'll do. He feels like he can and should trust her, and it must be those eyes, the ones that filled with tears when she realized he had no idea who she was. It seemed like he was pretty important to her, and that made her easier to listen to.

The doctor comes back. He plays confused but docile and she persuades the doctors to release him into her custody. He could kiss her. It feels more comfortable to be in the company of someone dressed like him. It makes him feel like he really does belong. After everything he's been through, that sense of belonging is something he clings to.

She takes him back to a hotel where two more men are waiting. The black man! And the one with the floppy hair and tan uniform, though it looks like he's gotten a haircut. He recognizes these men! He still doesn't know who they are, but at least things are starting to come together.

"Hey Eyes," he says to the woman.

"Eyes?" the not-so-floppy haired one asks.

"He means me," the woman says in a long suffering tone of voice. "Yes, sir?"

Hmm. He likes that. Sir. "You, me, these guys...how do we fit together?"

"We're a team," she says matter-of-factly. "We're SG-1."

That doesn't ring any bells for him, but the all-dressed-alike thing seems to support her statement.

"Have you checked in with General Hammond?" she asks the men.

"About two hours ago," the not-so-floppy—

"Wait," he says. "Let's get some names around here."

"Oh, well, I'm Daniel. That's Teal'c," he says indicating the black man, "she's Sam," Daniel points at Eyes, "and, well, you're Jack."

"I'm Carter, sir," the woman says contradicting Daniel.

"Well, which is it?"

"It's Sam Carter," Daniel jumps back in. "But it's true you almost never call her Sam. Not anymore."

"And you seem to call me Sir," he directs at her.

"You are correct, O'Neill. Major Carter does call you sir," the big man called Teal'c answers.

"Okay, let me get this straight... She calls me sir, he calls me O'Neill, and you call me Jack."

"That's right," Daniel answers.

"Oh, that's not going to be confusing at all," he mutters. "But my name is Jack. Jack O'Neill."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay then," he says, finally feeling a little better now that he's had three people confirm his name.

"Back to General Hammond?" Eyes... Sam...  _Carter_ leads.

"Checked in two hours ago, he recalled the S&R team, we're to check in once you and Jack return and settle in."

"Okay. Well, I want a shower," she says, "and maybe you guys could get him something to eat? He said he hasn't had anything familiar, and I know we have some power bars or MREs around her somewhere - maybe that'll jog something loose."

"Yeah," Daniel says, "okay. See you in twenty."

The MRE tastes like shit and  _doesn't_  jog anything loose.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam takes her time in the shower and tries to figure out exactly what she's going to say to the General.  _General Hammond, I found your 2IC only, he has no idea who any of us are. Want me to bring him back through the Stargate and blow his mind?_

While she washes her hair, she thinks back to the train ride back to the right side of the city. The colonel had been both shades of reserved and himself. His sense of humor had apparently remained intact. She isn't one hundred percent sure how she'd acquired the nickname "Eyes", but she can measure a guess and she wasn't all that upset about it, even if she does, continually, try to get him to stop calling her that. She'd even told him her name several times, so the thing with the names out there had to have been part sense of humor and part putting the pieces back together. And she was going to let him say or do whatever he needed to in order to make that happen.

The doctor might have thought he took the local drugs, but Sam would bet a year's salary he hadn't come anywhere near the stuff. It just wasn't like him. Besides, since Kynthia, he's been extraordinarily cautious about what he consumed off world. It's unlikely he even had the stuff by mistake. As a matter of fact, up until the last night she'd seen him, they'd all consumed the same things. And it's unlikely he got up in the middle of the night and decided on a rash of bad decisions.

In any event, something unexplained has happened and robbed the man of his memories and still he was...him. It is comforting to know that the colonel is the colonel no matter which way you slice it. Though, right now he doesn't have any of the baggage he's carried for so many years. None of the bad things he'd endured were part of his current story. She thinks about him having to relearn about his tragedies and she turns cold despite the shower of warm water, so she gets out.

Half an hour later she is standing in front of an open wormhole with the guys and the colonel's wide eyes make for a comical sight. While she radios with General Hammond she hears Daniel attempting to explain wormhole physics in a way that a layman can understand.

"So I'd like to bring him back through the gate, sir," she says just as Daniel winds down to a close and the colonel's face goes from wide eyed confusion to utter awe.

"Negative, Major," comes the tinny voice, "Colonel O'Neill could be a security risk in his present state."

"Understood, sir. But I think it's best if we came home and confined him to base. We're still unsure what happened to him and it's possible he'll not make a recovery of any type if we stay here."

"Stand by, Major," the General says and she waits while he consults with whomever - likely Janet Fraiser, the base chief medical officer. He came back over the radio, "Doctor Fraiser agrees."

Sam looks at her watch. "Is the gate open for travel at twenty-one hundred hours, sir?

"It is, see you soon, SG-1."

"Yes, sir. SG-1 out," she says and waits until the gate shuts down.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After a tense night in the infirmary, and more than two hours of analysis by the doctor, the colonel looks a little rough around the edges. She'd stayed with him the better part of the night when it became apparent that he felt like he'd traded one bad hospital experience for another. When Janet had suggested sedating him, he'd had a conniption fit. But around four thirty in the morning, an issue with the gate had taken her to the control room. Luckily, by then, he'd been dozing.

But now, at breakfast time, he is awake if a little jumpy. A tray from the commissary arrives and he seems relieved to be able to name all the foods even if he can't remember which he likes and which he doesn't. Janet, though, had engineered it so he had a plate full of food he'll be happy with: scrambled eggs, bacon, wheat toast, grape jelly, and sweet black coffee. As he eats he makes little happy sounds that go straight to Sam's head.

"This is good," he says, "this tastes familiar."

"Good," Sam says softly, soothingly. "I'm glad."

"So, Eyes, when you gonna spring me from  _this_ hospital," he cajoles between bites.

The General and Janet enter then and Janet says, "You can be released to your quarters now, Colonel O'Neill."

"That's great!" he says.

"But you're still confined to the base, Jack," the General says sympathetically. "You'll understand we can't let you off base with classified information when you're unaware of your security clearance."

"Well, I understand that you've told me that, and I'm getting out of here, so that's good enough for me."

"Sam, when he's done eating, will you take him?" Janet asks.

"I'm done eating now," he says and pushes away the last few bites of his meal. She's never seen him leave food unless the claxons were going off.

"We're not in any hurry, sir," she tells him.

"You may not be, Carter, but I sure am." She sort of misses the nickname he's bestowed on her when she hears him use her surname, but there's something comforting and familiar about hearing that as well.

"Yes, sir," she says with a small smile. "Then we'll go now, if you like."

"I'd like. I'd like very much. No offense, doc," he says to the diminutive doctor.

"None taken, colonel."

So, without further delay, she takes the colonel to his on-base quarters. She wishes he had more personal effects on base so maybe something would jump out at him, but his quarters were spartan aside from some spare uniforms, a Gameboy on the side table, and a more comfortable blanket folded neatly on the bed.

"Since you're confined here for now, I'll bring you something more entertaining later on, but I've got a meeting. I'll be tied up for the next hour or so."

"Go on, Eyes. I don't need a babysitter."

She ducks her head, embarrassed to still be pleased by the nickname. "Yes, sir. See you in a little while."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"The colonel is suffering from retrograde amnesia," Janet tells the General and the rest of SG-1.

"What exactly does that mean?" Daniel asks. "Because there are some things he seems to remember."

"Retrograde amnesia refers to the loss of memories up to an event. It can be total, meaning we'd have to reteach him everything as if he were a child, or partial meaning he's only lost certain memories or certain types of memories.

"He appears to have lost all his episodic memories, though we won't know for certain until we talk to him more, and we may never know if he's lost them all or if some were there but didn't make sense as memories until he's regained others. So, he's lost the memories of autobiographical information — things he's experienced.

"While bearing in mind I've only had a few hours with him, he appears to have retained his semantic memories — those are things we've learned, general knowledge. He also has his procedural memories — those are things we've learned to do, like tying our shoe laces, riding a bike... he may even still be able to pilot an aircraft."

"He just won't remember his life, then," Daniels says quietly, apparently coming around to the same thoughts Sam had had herself earlier.

Janet shakes her head, "Right now, when I ask him what he remembers about his life he starts four days ago with a train."

"How could this have happened?" the General asks.

"The doctor on the planet said he thinks Colonel O'Neill took a local drug called farmisha," Sam tells him. "Apparently they've seen memory loss as a reaction from use of that drug before. But generally the memory loss runs its course as the drug metabolizes. That's not the case for the colonel. But, more than that, sir, I don't believe Colonel O'Neill would have taken a local drug, not just because we were on a mission but because that's just not the sort of thing he'd do."

"I agree, Major."

"What else happened on the planet?"

"Nothing," Teal'c says, surely.

"No," Daniel says, "Not quite nothing."

Sam watches realization dawn on his face and then feels it bloom within her as well. "The alien artifact," she says.

"What artifact?" the General questions.

"We went to a museum while Teal'c was working with their military," Sam explains. "It appeared to be a space museum. But then we went from one exhibit to another and all the artifacts looked very futuristic."

"I warned him not to touch anything—" Daniel started.

Sam continued, "—but he did anyway. And when he did, he was thrown back from the device by some sort of EM pulse."

"He appeared fine at dinner," Teal'c said.

"Yes, he did," Sam agreed. "He was fine until he went to bed. We all turned in around zero hundred hours and by the next morning, he was gone." Next came the part of the story the General was already familiar with - how SG-1 had done a cursory search for the colonel and then had checked in with the SGC alerting the General of the problem. He'd sent another team through for search and rescue. The two SG teams had turned the city upside down, or so they'd thought, over the course of the next two days and had even made plans to search outside the city. Daniel had appealed to the city council and they were quite helpful as well, apparently interested in helping SG-1 find their team leader, but in the end it was a young nurse who had ended the search.

"But the device is the only thing he did differently than the rest of us," Daniel said.

"That we're aware of," she replied. "But it's a good guess, all things considered."


	6. Chapter 5

"Could the amnesia have been an intentional attack?" the General questioned.

"I don't think so, sir. The people of Levpow have been nothing but welcoming and pleased to be hosting us. While they're technologically advanced compared to many people we've met, their technology seemed very similar to what we have here on Earth."

"Besides, the artifact was in a room full of other artifacts that looked nothing like the rest of the technology we encountered in the city," Daniel added. "And the council members were distressed when Jack went missing. They were very helpful."

"And yet they couldn't find him in one of their own hospitals," the General pointed out.

"The hospitals were checked," Sam tells him, "only the colonel hadn't been admitted yet."

"They seemed adamant that he'd taken this... farmisha. Could that have been a cover up for something they may have done to him when using the device?"

"I really don't think so, sir. As Daniel pointed out, they were...nice," she said with a little shrug. "I don't think there was any intentional foul play."

"SG-1, I want you to go back to the planet and see what more you can find out about the device."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She came back with a stack of Gameboy games, a yoyo, and a book that was in a drawer of his desk. "This is all I could find in your office," she tells him as she hands over the booty.

"All this was in my office? What, exactly, do I do?"

"You're a colonel, sir," she tells him knowing that doesn't tell him anything at all.

"Not a very busy one, apparently. Not that I'm complaining."

"At least all the games are new to you," she says with a shrug.

"It's not nice to tease the guy with amnesia, Eyes."

"No, sir," she says with a small smile. "I came to tell you, SG-1 is going back to the planet to see if we can find out what happened to you. We have suspicions you touched something you shouldn't have."

"Does that sound like something I'd do?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. I take it I'm not going, too."

"No."

"Hence the video games."

"Yes, sir."

"You sure do call me sir a lot."

She smiles at him, "Yes, sir."

"I like it," he says with a wink.

Oh geez. The nickname is one thing, she likes it, but she can easily overlook it. But the easy flirting feels a little too much like the real him. Well, besides the winking. That's new. "If all goes well we'll be back in a few hours."

"Then I'll see you in a few hours."

"Okay," she says and turns to go.

She's almost all the way out the door when he calls to her, "Good luck!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The only thing the council could tell SG-1 about the device was that it was Ancient technology - that all the artifacts in that room were left behind on their planet by the Ancients. It figured, Sam supposed. It wasn't like the colonel had great luck with the other Ancient tech they'd run across.

"But the devices are not dangerous," Paviani, the councilman they'd been working with tells them. "See?" he says and touches the device that zapped the colonel himself. Nothing happens.

Daniel looks at Sam. "One of us should touch it."

"I don't think so," she says just as Teal'c takes a step forward and puts his hand on the device. "Teal'c!" she calls out.

"I am fine, Major Carter. Nothing has happened."

"Damnit, Teal'c."

"He's fine," Daniel reiterates. Then, like a stupid man he isn't, he touches the device, too. "See? Nothing."

"Daniel! You know, you guys don't pull this shit when the colonel is in charge," she grouses, then looks at the councilman. "Sorry."

"No apologies necessary, Major Carter. We're concerned, too. I take it your Colonel O'Neill has not regained his memories."

"No, he hasn't."

"And you're certain he didn't partake of the farmisha."

"I'm positive," Sam says though she has no actual proof outside her gut feeling and knowledge of the kind of man the colonel is.

"It's not the first Ancient device that reacted to Jack," Daniel points out.

"No," she concedes. "It's like they know he's coming. These ancient devices aren't exactly making our lives easy, are they?" The first one downloaded the complete knowledge of the Ancient people into the colonel's brain, the second set them into a time loop that lasted at least three months, and the third has given him amnesia. "They don't exactly seem like the most useful of devices."

"Just because we don't know how to use them, doesn't mean they aren't useful," Daniel defends.

"Not now, Daniel," Sam snaps. "Not while the colonel is still suffering from amnesia and doesn't know who he is because that device stole his memories from him!" She gesticulates and her fingers brush against the device when she does. Again nothing happens.

"Well, I guess now we know for sure," Daniel says.

"Well then, what if it isn't the device?" Sam asks.

"What else could it have been? Everything else he did, we all did.

"That we know of," Daniel points out. "For all we know he went out on his own that night."

"He wouldn't have done that," Sam points out. "He would have told at least one of us where he was going. It's not his first mission, Daniel."

"Yeah," the man concedes. "Okay."

"So we know nothing," she says with a sigh.

"Not really. We know it's an ancient device and we know, so far, we've only seen them react to Jack."

"Okay," Sam says, defeated. "Let's head back. We might as well debrief. I don't think we're going to find anything else."

"I am sorry we could not be more assistance," Paviani says.

"It's okay, Councilman. We appreciate your help and your willingness to test the device knowing what we suspected about it."

"Please let us know what more you learn," he requests.

"We will, thanks again." And then SG-1, sans their leader, heads for the gate.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Another Ancient device?" General Hammond questions.

"Yes, sir. Colonel O'Neill's amnesia appears to be an accident. Certainly non-hostile and unintentional."

"Is there any way for you to study the devices and find a way to reverse the amnesia?" the General asks Daniel.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"If it is garden variety amnesia," Janet starts, "then Colonel O'Neill could experience spontaneous recovery."

"How does that work, Doctor?" the General asks.

"It means he simply... remembers the details of his life."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Sam asks.

"We can try hypnotherapy or classical conditioning. But the truth is, he'll remember when he remembers. You can try feeding him bits of his life, that doesn't lead to spontaneous recovery of memories, but it might make him feel better to know some of his autobiographical details."

"How long can it take for him to recover?" the General asks.

"The process isn't an exact science, General. It can be fairly quick if he responds to treatment, but if he doesn't it can take years on his own, if he even recovers his memories at all."

The General sighs heavily, "That's not entirely what I wanted to hear."

"Then let's hope for a quick, spontaneous recovery," Janet says.

Murmurs of agreement spread around the table.


	7. Chapter 6

"Sam, could you go get some things from the colonel's house?"

"Sure," Sam says to Janet, willing to help out.

"Since he'll be on base a while, I thought he might like some of his personal things."

"He's not exactly a stranger to military issue, but I don't mind. It's just..."

"What?"

"Well, couldn't he go home?" Sam knows it is a big ask. Because, well...

"He doesn't have security clearance; we can't let him off base."

"What if SG-1 stayed with him."

"You'd have to ask the General," Janet says, resigned to Sam's taking up the colonel's cause.

So, she does. But General Hammond has some concerns. "Doctor Jackson has been temporarily loaned out to SG-11; he'll be going off-world tomorrow morning for a week. And Teal'c is allowed off-base in the company of other SG-1 members because you can help him maintain his cover. And now Colonel O'Neill doesn't have security clearance."

Oh. Well, that just leaves her. "I could stay with him, sir. At least temporarily while we see what happens."

"You have duties, too, Major Carter."

"Then he can come back to base with me when I work. Or stay on base when I have to go off-world. I just think it would be helpful for him to be home, surrounded by familiar things."

"I thought Doctor Fraiser said his memories would return spontaneously and not necessarily with reminders of his life," the General points out.

"I know, sir," Sam says softly. "But I want to try to help. And keeping him confined to base indefinitely doesn't sound like a solution."

"On that we agree." He seems to think about it. "You have permission to temporarily take Colonel O'Neill home, Major Carter. But he's to return to base when you do and only be escorted off base by yourself or Doctor Jackson when possible."

"Thank you, sir," Sam says, beaming. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack and Daniel walk into the commissary and Daniel gestures towards a table. "We sit over there."

"We have assigned seating?"

"No, not really, it's just..." he shrugs, "we always sit there."

"What if someone else is sitting there?" Jack pokes at Daniel, just because it seems like fun.

Daniel raises an eyebrow at him, "They don't," he says with a finality that looks funny on him.

"No really," Jack pushes the button a little more just to see what happens.

Exasperated, Daniel throws up his hands. "Then we'd sit somewhere else."

Jack laughs, turns out it's fun getting a rise out of Daniel. And so easy.

"Oh yes, ha-ha," Daniel says but he quirks a little grin as they head towards the line for a snack. Daniel grabs a packet of crackers and some coffee.

Jack's craving something sweet and he snatches up a piece of cake that looks particularly enticing and the two men go sit down at the table Daniel had previously indicated.

"I feel like I owe you an apology," Daniel says.

"What? Why?" he asks around a mouthful of cake.

"Because you're going through all of this and I have to go off... on a mission. I leave in the morning. And you're confined to base-"

"It's fine, Daniel."

"But you gotta think, eventually they'll let you go home, right?"

"I hope so."

"And one of us should be with you. To, I don't know, tell you what you're missing."

"Doc Fraiser said telling me stories wouldn't help me remember any faster, it would just fill in the blanks."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I'd rather remember."

"Still, one of us should be with you."

"Well, what about Teal'c? Or Carter?"

"Teal'c won't be allowed off base with you like this. But Sam," Daniel shrugs, "sure."

Hmm. More time with the Eyes, he could handle that. Not that she didn't have work of her own to do, but the thought of spending more time with her was nice. He likes the way she smiles at him. Makes him feel all... warm. Besides, if they did let him go home, he's not sure he really wanted the guys hanging around anyway. A little time alone with her would be good.

"Sam will be fine," he says to Daniel.

Daniel gives him a sideways, knowing glance. "I'm sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jack asks and balls up the cellophane that had been over the cake he'd eaten.

"Nothing," Daniel says a little too quickly and pushes back from the table. "I've got to get back to my office. I'll see you later on?"

"Sure." Jack says and leans back in his chair. "See ya."

Daniel didn't seem to be surprised that Jack wanted to spend some time alone with Sam. Maybe there  _is_ something going on between Jack and the blue eyed beauty. Sounds like something that requires a little investigation. And he has nothing but time. Whistling a jaunty tune, he heads back to his quarters to await Carter's return.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I have permission to take you home, sir," Sam greets him when he opens the door to his quarters.

"Springing me again, huh? I'm starting to think I'm going to owe you big."

"It's fine, sir. I'm happy to help."

"Uh-huh," he says with a nod and a knowing sort of smirk she's not sure how to process.

"So..." he says, "home."

"Yes, sir. About twenty minutes away, here in Colorado Springs. It's a nice neighborhood, small, a little secluded. Nice house," she says as she waits for him to put on his BDU jacket.

She walks them to the elevators, then through the checkout into the parking lot. "We'll take my car," she says but points, "but that's your truck right there. We should probably stop and see if there's anything in there you need."

"Okay," he says, but he doesn't sound like there's anything he could want. She pulls open his door and fishes under his front seat for the keys. "I leave my keys in my truck?"

"It's turned out to be easier," she says. "The number of times we've needed to move vehicles around when one of us was injured. Besides, it's not like it's not safe here."

"I guess so," he says but he doesn't sound pleased.

"We can lock it when we're done, if you want."

"Yeah."

She takes a cursory glance on the seats but sees nothing. "You want to check the glove box, sir?"

He does, but all that's inside is a manual and a bunch of receipts. "I'm guessing I don't need any of those."

"Okay, then. Let's go."

Still he finds the lock button and locks the truck behind them after checking that Sam still has his keys in her hand.

In her little car they make small talk while he fusses with the seat as she drives. Eventually, he ends up with the thing pushed all the way back and tipped back to a "halfway comfortable position, Eyes, who sits straight up?"

She wiggles in her seat. "I do, sir."

He shakes his head at her but smiles a little.

"You call me sir off base, too," he observes.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're my commanding officer, sir."

"Right," he says with a nod as if he's attempting to assemble information.

Finally, they pull up to his house and a cloud of confusion passes over his face while she watches. "I think I recognize it," he tells her. "But I'm not sure if I know it's home because you told me or if I know because I...know."

"That's okay," she says, "it'll take time."

"Yeah," but he gets out of the car and follows her to the door.

He notices she uses her keys to open the door, not his, and she sees his raised eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.

"So, I lock my house but not my truck?"

"Only when you're not in it," she says. "Trying to sleep with the door unlocked makes me insane, I don't know how you do it." She leads him inside. "So?"

"So what?"

"You recognize it?"

"Hell, I don't know," he says and cuffs the back of his neck with one hand.

She waits to let him take the lead and he turns as if to head to the bedrooms. She lets him go, not wanting to embarrass him if he'd wanted to go elsewhere. "Found the bathroom," he calls out, in good enough humor. "If I keep going this way, am I going to find bedrooms or living room?"

"Bedrooms, sir."

"Ah. Right." He turns around and joins her back by the front door. "Why don't you lead?"

"Living room," she says with a nod and leads him into the spacious room with its picture windows.

"Hey," he says. "This is nice."

"It is," she replies. "I've always loved this room. How about it, sir? Would you like some dinner?"

"You going to cook?" he asks her. "Because I'm not sure I remember how."

"If you remembered me, you'd know that you're hoping I'll say no," she says with a sly grin.

He grins back. "Okay... so?"

She goes into the kitchen and liberates some menus from a drawer. "Pizza or Chinese?"

"I have no idea," he says with a laugh. Why don't you decide?

She opts for pizza, heavy on the meat because she knows that's what he likes. She checks his fridge and finds beer and figures they're good.

While she orders, he pokes around the living room. His eyes land on the pictures on the fireplace mantle but he doesn't ask and she's on the phone so she doesn't say anything when he lingers over the picture of a young boy.

"Pizza is on its way," she says a few moments later. "If you don't mind I'm going to..." and she hooks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the bathroom.

"Sure, sure," he says, "go."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

While she's gone he goes back to the photos on the mantle. There's a picture of a boy, an older black and white photo of a young couple getting married, and some pictures that look like they might be relatives in studio portraits. On the end he sees a couple of pictures of SG-1 in uniform on base. They're outfitted in uniform and holding weapons but smiling from ear to ear. Except Teal'c. Though Jack noticed he didn't seem to smile much.

When Sam returns, she takes him on a tour of the house. First she leads him down the hallway where they encounter the first bathroom he came to. "The guest bath," she says then ushers him further down the hall. She points into a doorway on the right. "Guest bedroom and your," she makes air quotes, "office". He pokes his head into the room and sees a mess of a desk and a dusty computer. Now he understands her air quotes. She points further down the hall. "And there's the master."

He walks into the room, but she stops at the door. He wonders why she seems reluctant to come in. Maybe she feels uncomfortable because of his memory loss. He shrugs to himself and pulls open the closet. Men's clothing from wall to wall. He frowns. So... He looks at her, she shifts her weight in the doorway, and he closes the closet door.

She takes him out of the bedroom once he's explored enough of the bedroom. She leads him through the kitchen to show him the laundry room and then out the sliding glass doors and walks him around the yard. They kill some time looking at the tree line and making more small talk about the weather.

When they hear a car pull up, they walk around the front of the house together and she pays the pizza delivery guy with a twenty pulled out of her front jeans pocket and he realizes he should probably change his clothes at some point, because she looks a lot more comfortable out of uniform than he feels in one.

She lets him lead the way into the dining room. "I'm going to change before we eat, okay?"

"Sure," she says with another one of those smiles that he finds goes straight to his gut. She's got a gorgeous smile.

In the bedroom all he finds are pants that appear to be a size too big and baggy, button down shirts. He dresses in the clothes anyway, but when he walks back into the dining room he says to her, "Are you sure these are mine?"

She looks up at him critically. "Yeah. Why?"

"They're too big."

She laughs at him then shrugs. "You seem to like them that way."

"Huh." He says then sits down to pizza and... He picks up the bottle, beer. "I take it I drink a lot of beer?"

"No sir, not a lot. But you do like it."

He takes a sip. "Not bad."

"Well, it is your beer, sir."

"I guess so." He tries the pizza. "Good too," he says around a mouthful.

"It's from your favorite place," she says.

"I have good taste."

She laughs again and he wonders how many times he can get her to do that in one night. "Yes, sir, you do."

"What else do I like to eat?"

"Steak," she says without hesitation.

"Steak and pizza. Do I have a cholesterol problem?"

She grins, "No sir, not that I know of."

"So," he says after finishing his first slice of pizza, "I've been looking around..."

"Yes, sir?"

"And... I appear to live alone."

"Yes, sir," she says, suddenly appearing uncomfortable.

"So... you don't live here too?"

She blushes from the roots of her hair down into her blouse. "No!"

"Uh, sorry," he says when it's clear he's made her uncomfortable, "I just sort of assumed because you know me so well, and the house, that..."

"We're teammates, sir." She says as if that explains it all. And maybe it would, if he understood more about their team.

"Sorry," he says again.

She clears her throat and takes a long pull off her beer, "It's okay," she says, but she's still blushing.

"And you seem to be the one who keeps coming to my rescue."

"Well, technically, with you out of commission, I'm your team leader."

"Right," he says for lack of anything substantial to say. "Sam," he says when her embarrassment doesn't seem to dissipate, "I'm sorry."

She takes a deep breath, "It's fine."

"So you'll be staying..."

"In the guest room, yes, sir."

"Do you have things here?"

"In my car," she says.

"Right."

"If this has made you uncomfortable, sir," she says as if she's got something to apologize for.

"No, it's fine." Damned disappointing, but fine. "Well, if this is as exciting as my night is going to get," he says and watches as she blushes again, "why don't we start with the photos on the mantle?"

He watches the blood drain out of her face as her eyes flicker through the pass-through to the mantle.

Now he's not sure he wants to know.


	8. Chapter 7

"Those pictures are your family," she tells him, not sure how to continue. He wants to start with the photos on the mantle, but she's not sure she wants to jump right in to  _you had a son sir, but he's dead._ "Why don't we go sit in the living room and we'll go through your photos?"

It only takes them a few minutes to clear away the mess from dinner. She makes sure they each have a fresh, cold beer — certain one or the other of them is going to need it before the night is over. From a cabinet she pulls an older looking photo album and she sits down next to him on the couch, opening it and spreading it across both of their laps.

The first photo is black and white, a similar photo to the one on the mantle. "These are your parents," she says pointing first to his mother, "Maureen," then to his father, "and Nolan."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

His parents. Maureen and Nolan. Maureen and Nolan O'Neill. They sound like...nice people.

"My folks?" he asks her, "What do you know about them?"

"Not much," she says with a tinge of apology in her voice. "Your dad died years before I met you and I get the impression you don't talk to your mom as often as she thinks you should."

"Does she know? About my memory, I mean?"

"No, not yet. Not until we had a better idea of what was going on."

"Who would tell her?"

"Well, I don't know," she says, suddenly uncertain. "I guess Daniel would."

"Daniel and I are close friends, too?"

"You're closer friends than you and I are," she says a little wistfully. "And Daniel's met your mother. It would be easier coming from him, I think."

"Can we wait to tell her?"

Sam looks up at him. "We can handle it however you want."

He nods then turns the page. There's Maureen holding a small baby. "Me?" He asks.

Sam shakes her head. "No, I don't think so." She pulls the photo out of the album and turns it over. "Nope, Ryan, your older brother." She forestalls further questions when she tells him, "Died in Vietnam."

"So it's just me and my mom now?"

She considers him, and he knows she knows he's calculating the picture of the young boy on the mantle. She turns the page in the album instead of answering. "These look like Ryan's first Christmas..."

She takes him through the book, page by page, a brief history of his childhood. When they reach his high school graduation photo, he's looking at a young man who finally looks very much like the man he sees in the mirror.

Another page flip and there's a picture of him in uniform, so young. "This must be your Academy photo," she says. Then another page flip and there are more candid shots, all of them a testimony to the seventies. Young men, arms slung around each other shoulders, beach volleyball, sitting around a bonfire with beers in their hands, him with a young blonde woman on his lap. "That's Sara," she says pointing the woman out. The photos come one after the other, pages of his twenties that look like they were a mix of fun, promotions, and a military life he might not want to remember too much.

She turns another page and there's a wedding photo. Him and the woman Sam named as Sara.

"I'm married?"

"You were," she says softly. "You and Sara divorced about four years ago."

He wants to ask her why, but figures she probably wouldn't have been privy to the inner workings of his marriage. Or, maybe she was and that's why he's no longer married. He considers her carefully, but she doesn't seem like the woman, or the kind of woman, who would have broken up his marriage.

She turns the page again and there's a picture of him and Sara together holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket. His eyes fly to the picture on the mantle. "I have a son?"

Sam doesn't answer and he watches as she presses her eyes closed. Oh. Oh no. Please let this be one of those  _it was a horrible divorce and now the kids live with their mom_  sort of situations. And then she starts shaking her head. "No sir," she says quietly, "not anymore."

He chews on that for a moment. He wants to ask but he doesn't want to know. And she looks pretty broken up about having to tell him which makes him want to know even less.

"It was an accident," she says quietly, her voice carefully modulated. He can hear her swallow.

"What kind of accident?"

She bows her head and scratches down the bridge of her nose with her short fingernails. She takes a shuddery breath then looks up at him with wet eyes. "A gun."

"Oh god," he says and feels his stomach drop out for the son he doesn't remember. It hurts to hear even if he still can't remember his son. His child. It's news that feels one part like something happening to him and two parts like something that happened to someone else. "When?"

"About a year before your divorce."

"So that's why..."

"Yes." She says and he notices that she's left off the sir but he can still hear her say it.

"I'm going to go..." he says and stands up.

"Okay," she says but she seems unsure.

"I'm just going to go sit, for a while." Where? On his bed?

"Why don't you stay here, sir? I'll go get ready for bed. I'll give you some time and see you in the morning."

Part of him is grateful she is going, while part of him is worried to see her go. There are so many things he doesn't know, so many things he doesn't yet feel, but he feels like he owes it to the son he doesn't remember to process his death. He was a father. And he lost his son. And he doesn't remember either event. He feels like he lost something important beyond words and yet maybe a little saved that he doesn't remember the heartbreak. Though, to not remember the heartbreak he's had to give up the memories of his son which leads him back to the beginning and his thoughts circle and circle around while he tries to have a feeling that isn't, simply, loss.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning she is awakened by the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing, and pots and pans being rattled around. She gets out of bed, and pulls jeans and a t-shirt on over the tank top and boy shorts she'd slept in. It isn't exactly her most flattering look, but she wants to find out what all the ruckus is about. She walks into the kitchen to find the colonel rummaging through a cabinet, his bare back to her.

She clears her throat. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"

He spins around, "Nope! I'm going to cook breakfast."

"Can you still cook?"

"I assume I can since it's not autobiographical information. We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

He sounds pretty good, all things considered. "Are you doing okay, sir?"

"I'm as okay as I can be," he says and doesn't elaborate. He turns his back to her again and she takes the rare opportunity to study his build, his lean muscle and tanned skin, the dip of his lower back where it disappears into dark blue sweatpants. It's rare that she's encountered him sleeping on Earth, but she's never known him to sleep without a t-shirt on. A quirk of no memory? Or had he been self-conscious before and no longer remembers why? Not that she can see any reason at all he should have been self-conscious.

He makes perfectly passable scrambled eggs and toast but she finds she's a little sad that he hadn't included a healthy dash of beer in his egg mixture.

"I'm going to have to go in today," she tells him, "which means you'll need to come with me."

"And still be confined to my quarters."

"I'm sure Janet's going to want to see you, but yeah, aside from that."

"Exactly who am I a danger to?" he asks her around a mouthful of toast.

"No one! It's just you don't have—"

"—security clearance," they say together.

"What are you supposed to do if I go screaming out of my house about the Stargate?"

She shrugs, "Damage control."

"So, let me get this straight... we were on an alien planet and I lost my memory. You brought me back home through a wormhole from one Stargate there to another here on Earth."

"That's the short version, but yes."

"And the people on Earth don't know anything about this?"

"No, sir."

"That's an awfully big secret to keep."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't know how you do it."

"Not anymore," she says cheekily and then instantly feels bad for teasing him. Her smile falls.

"Hey now," he says, "it was a good joke." He cracks a smile.

Their eyes meet and she feels the crackle of awareness between them. She clears her throat, drops his eyes, wipes her mouth with a napkin then gets up. "I need to get dressed for work," she says, then escapes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A week later he's spent four out of seven nights on base because Sam has. He's had enough. Plus...

"I remember something," he says poking his head into her lab.

"You do?" she asks him excitedly. "What?"

"When I was fifteen my dad's dad and I put an addition on his cabin in Minnesota."

"It's your cabin now," she tells him.

"I want to go there. I want to see it."

The trip to the cabin is made by plane and rental car. They can't stay more than two days, Sam and Daniel have obligations, and it was hard enough to get the time to make this little jaunt. But Sam is pretty adamant that Daniel come along, so a two day trip it is.

He doesn't remember the layout of the cabin, but he does remember adding on the additional bedroom and bathroom that became the master suite. He remembers the pond and the dock. He remembers the surrounding landscape and can lead them unerringly on a hike that starts on one side of the cabin, travels around the pond, and drops them back on the other side of the cabin. It's amazing, really, the way the memories come back.

"Like Swiss cheese," he says. "But I don't know where the holes are until I fall in them."

The second night, after Daniel's gone to bed and Sam is tidying the kitchen to be empty again for the foreseeable future, Jack comes to her with a stack of photographs that were apparently in the bedside table. "Have you ever seen these?" he asks her, spreading them across the table.

"No," she said, "but I've never been up here before."

He falls silent. "I still forget that about you."

"What?"

"That we weren't friends."

"It's not that we weren't friends," she tells him, quietly. "It's that I was your second in command. We didn't...fraternize. Not really. We were very good."

Wait. That sounds like there was definitely something between them. Something that was real enough that they'd either talked about it or hadn't even had to. They were very good? That made it sound like it took effort. It hit him like a freight train. Everything he'd thought about the two of them, at least they way they felt, was true. They worked at not crossing lines. And he doesn't remember any of work they'd apparently put into keeping their relationship above board. And then he came to her sure there was something between them, making her face their feelings in a way he hadn't had to.

"This is very complicated for you, isn't it?" he asks her finally, once he's moved all the photos around on the table for a while and she's sat in silence.

She says, simply, "Yes."


	9. Chapter 8

After four weeks he's got a holey memory of his cabin, the time he and his brother fell out of the same tree and each broke a leg, some live hockey games, and a handful of missions through the gate. There might be other things, but he has a tough time knowing what's memory and what's a story Sam's told him so he has to gauge it by things she knew about him before the amnesia and things she didn't. He's surprised to learn the strangely detailed things he has told her about his life and then, similarly, the everyday details she's completely unaware of.

Though the General seems contrite about it, a medical discharge is handed down. He takes it about as well as can be expected considering he's retired before, not that he remembers retiring any better than he remembers his service. Besides, it's tough to screw up the will to care when he's confined to his quarters or the infirmary whenever he's on base.

Three days after his discharge papers are signed he has a memory of being in a cockpit so he asks Sam to tell him about his military career pre-SGC.

"I don't know your stories, sir."

"I don't think you need to call me that anymore," he says and she blushes, confirming his suspicion that she hid something between them behind his rank. In the four weeks he's gotten to know her he thinks he's figured out she's not the kind of woman who would have had a relationship with her CO and lied to him about it when he got amnesia. Hell, he doesn't think she's the kind of woman who would have had the relationship at all. So whatever she feels for him is either something she thinks is one-sided and is embarrassed about or is something they've talked about and he's forgotten. He really can't put his finger on which, though, and considering the way just brushing up against the subject makes her blush he goes back and forth on whether or not to bring it up to her, because he doesn't want to embarrass her, but she's absolutely adorable when she blushes.

Instead of addressing his last comment, she offers to get in touch with some of the men he'd served with, she says she knows a few of them are in the Colorado Springs area now.

"Just, tell me what you know," he says. "If I feel the need to get my stories from other guys, I'll let you know. But for now it's kind of nice to know that whatever I  _remember_  is actual memory and not me feeling like some guy's version of a story is mine."

"Is that what it feels like?"

"Well, yeah. It's like the story becomes my memory. Like when your parents tell you stories about your childhood over and over, it starts to feel like a memory even though you were too young to remember, right? Well, when your mind is just a blank slate and it knows it shouldn't be, it's immediately like that. Like every story is trying to slot itself into memory."

"It must be very strange."

"It's strange to talk to someone you've got history with and not know that history," he says and he knows the look he's giving her is intense. She blushes, again, prettily. He notices she's refrained from calling him sir. As much as he liked it at first, he's glad to hear it leave her vocabulary. It felt like a barrier held between them, and he's got his theories why. He resolves to ask her about them, especially now that she can answer honestly, but first, he wants to hear about his life in the military. He clears his throat. "Anyway, my career?"

"Oh," she says and slides down to sit on the floor in front of the couch — he's noticed she likes it down there, where she has to look up a little to meet his eyes, but where it's easy to stare into the fireplace, even though they haven't lit the first fire. "Well, you saw the pictures; you went to the Air Force academy, right out of high school. You said you went because your parents couldn't afford to send you to college, but your grades were incredible — they'd have had to have been — so you likely could have gotten a scholarship to go, well, anywhere else. But you didn't. You've never said anything that gave me any other reason to doubt what you said, though.

"You went to flight school right after the academy."

"So I  _was_  a pilot."

"Yes, sir. A damn good one."

There's that damned  _sir._ He grimaces at it but decides to distract her. "Then why am I not a pilot anymore?"

"You went into spec ops and then retired, and then into the SGC," she says, "but we're getting a little ahead of ourselves."

"By all means," he says with a flourish of his hands, "continue."

"You flew a C-5 Galaxy in Operation Zaire in '78. You flew cargo planes for the first part of your service," she explains, "though that's not what you wanted to do. You learned to fly the smaller planes years later in Florida when you went into spec ops.

"In 1980 you flew in Operation Eagle Claw—"

"Isn't that the one from that Ben Affleck movie?"

She looks up at him sharply. "Yes! You remember the movie?"

He thinks about it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I do. But I don't remember watching it."

"We've watched a lot of movies over the years, right here. It's one of Teal'c's favorite things to do, so when we'd get together we'd watch movies. Anyway, the movie's historical inaccuracies really pissed you off, so maybe it's better if you don't remember actually seeing it," she says with a sly smile.

"You had a parachuting accident sometime between then and getting married, but you'd already been with Sara for a while. I don't know how long." At one point she gets up and goes to the back of the house. She comes back with a box that sat on his dresser — it's a box full of medals that are, apparently, not some sort of legacy passed down from his grandfather or father as he thought perhaps they might be. She points to one then the other and tells him what they mean and what she knows about his having earned them. There are some she doesn't recognize and others she knows but can't relate the story for. In that way she glosses over most of the late eighties and early nineties then, she pauses.

"You were a POW in Iraq," she says, quietly. "During the Gulf War. It wasn't..." she pauses, seems to collect herself and then continues, "I know about how you were treated, and if you want me to, I'll tell you, I'd just prefer you thought about it first, because it's going to be difficult to hear."

He could imagine. Anything that put that pitying look on her face was something he wasn't sure he wanted to hear about. And considering he could imagine some of the things she was likely to tell him, he decided that perhaps he'd like a little more time to try to remember that on his own, to keep his thoughts on that as private as possible a second time around. He wonders how he came about telling her the first time.

"There might have been some Glenlivet involved," she says. "And maybe more than  _some."_

She continues through his box of medals, pausing to mention retirement  _twice,_  until she gets to one and says, "But we got this one at the same time," and then, "so we're going to have to be done for now."

"Security clearance," he says. "Right."

"There's a lot I left out of the earlier stuff because  _I_  don't have the right clearance, you never could have told me," she says as if that will somehow make him feel better. It doesn't.

"So that's the boring version," she says. "Are you sure you don't want me to contact some of the guys you served with to help you fill in the blanks?"

He'd retired not once but twice, and only once for a personal reason he could fathom. He'd been held as a POW, had a career one of his closest friends couldn't know anything about... why would he want to know more? It was going to be bad enough when he remembered. "No, thank you," he says. "I think I probably know enough for now."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning, she's up before him, standing at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee and staring out the window that overlooks the backyard. She likes this view. It makes her feel more peaceful and serene than anything else she could be doing while waiting for him to wake up after laying the Cliff's Notes version of his service at his feet the night before. She wishes she'd have handled the whole situation differently. Deferred when he asked, maybe. Anything to keep from ending the night with that dark look on his face: A  _why me_  sort of look she'd never seen on him before, no matter how awful something he'd had to do had been.

She hates that she's now been the one to give him the bad new twice: first his family, then his  _life_  and why did she have to be the one to put that look on his face? She cares about him, might even love him. Might  _have_  loved him. Because she shouldn't love him now, not when he is a shadow of the man she'd fallen for. It feels… disingenuous… somehow to let her feelings for the Jack O'Neill she'd fallen for bleed over onto this man, as if she is doing  _her_  Jack a disservice. But…  _this_  Jack isn't off limits. And, as he continues to prove, even without his memories, he is still very much the same man. His voice, his sense of humor, the places he pauses in conversation… all the same. Just, until last night anyway, without the same shadows in his eyes.

But she cares for him because of his shadows. Despite the shadows. She cares because he saw the things he saw and still he, somehow, sees  _her._ She takes a sip of her swiftly cooling coffee and refocuses on a tree near the edge of the yard line. Why does it have to feel like falling for this Jack means she's cheating on the old Jack? All they had between them was a conversation about what they couldn't be that was veiled in the idea that they had to leave whatever it is they thought might be between them in the place they'd admitted it. She's probably blowing the whole thing out of proportion. Her feelings have taken on this larger-than-life sort of presence because of the enormity of what had happened – she'd nearly died, they'd nearly been branded dangers to the program and perhaps Earth, he'd lost his memories. It's like she was living in a television drama where things happened for ratings.

"Whatever it is must be serious," he says from behind her making her jump, and slosh cool coffee onto the floor and her bare feet. "Sorry," he says and retrieves a hand towel from beside the coffee pot. He drops it on the floor at her feet and she uses her toes to push it around and mop up the spilled coffee.

"Just thinking," she finally says in answer to his almost-question.

"I could see that. Whatcha thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Right," he said softly. "Nothing." Clearly, he doesn't buy it. Not that she did a great job of selling it.

"I was thinking about you, actually."

"I could have guessed that much," he says wryly.

"I should have handled last night differently. I'm sorry."

"How do you think that could have gone differently? It's my story Sam, the way you told it doesn't change it."

"I could have—"

"What? Left some parts out? Yeah, you could have and I'd have never known unless my memories came back. But what difference does it make? Knowing it happened doesn't make it feel real, Sam. It's like watching it on television."

She chuckles lowly, apparently they're both feeling a little disconnected from things. She also misses when he calls her Eyes. Though she can't believe she feels that way.

His chuckle joins hers, "You really miss that? I got the impression you didn't particularly care for it."

She should have figured she'd speak aloud. She rolls her eyes. "I didn't particularly care for it. But I still miss it."

"Because it's something I never would have called you before?"

"Oh no. Never," she agrees.

"Sam, I want you to be honest with me now."

"I've been honest with you so far," she defends.

"I know. But… not about one thing."

"What's that?"

"Us," he says. "I want you to tell me what was going on between us."


	10. Chapter 9

"Nothing," she says seriously. "Nothing was going on between us."

"Because nothing could be or because there's nothing between us? And I'll tell you now that I don't believe there was nothing between us." He can't believe that. Not the way he seemed to share the intimate details of his life with her. And not when she looked at him the way she had last night. And certainly not when he found her looking so melancholy this morning.

"Which missions do you remember?" she defers.

"Sam—" he says her name warningly.

She holds up a hand forestalling him. "Just… give me a minute. The missions?"

"I remember Cassandra," he says then thinks. "Actually, I remember everything about Cassandra. Or, at least I think it's everything. It's a lot." Quick flashes of the girl run in succession through his mind. A young Cassandra growing through awkward years into a beautiful teenager, Sam disappearing down a missile silo with the girl, a dog, countless picnics, school plays, an ill-advised year in band.

"That's great news," she says with a soft smile on her face. He likes that soft smile. He wonders if anything or anyone other than Cassandra elicits that response.

"And I remember getting hung from the wall in the gate room when an alien artifact impaled me in the shoulder." He remembers the pain. He remembers the way she squeezed his hand. Shit, he remembers that it was called the gate room.

"That was a tough one," she said.

"I remember you," he says suddenly. "With long hair."

She shakes her head. "Not me."

"No…" he says. "Not you. A you from an… alternate reality?" He stops to chew on that for a moment. "Really?" He scratches as his head as if that will help the memories come. "I remember jumping out of a plane in… Russia?"

"Our last mission before Levpow," she says with a nod.

"This is really strange."

"You don't remember the half of it yet," she says with a smile. "But it sounds like it's coming back."

"There's more," he says. "Lots more."

"That's fantastic!" she says and and moves as if she's going to hug him, but she stops.

He pulls her in, holds her close, and buries his face in the warm, fragrant part of her neck. "This feels so familiar," he tells her.

"That's because you've hugged me before," she says but it doesn't sound like something she's comfortable with saying. "Are there other things?" she says near his ear. "That you remember?"

"Some things, small things. I played hockey in high school, and baseball."

"I didn't know you played baseball," she says, still in his arms. He can feel her words where their chests are pressed together. She starts to fidget, though, so he releases her.

"It's strange because I remember my folks coming to the games, but I don't really remember anything about them. I see them the way they are in the pictures you showed me, not the way they would have been."

"It's okay," she says and smoothes down an errant lock of hair, "it'll come back."

"Or not."

She appears reluctant to concede so she shrugs. "I think it will."

He doesn't say anything, he just looks at her for long moments until she gets so uncomfortable under his scrutiny she goes to refill her coffee and to pour a cup for him. He likes the way she adds sugar automatically.

As he stands there, in her personal space, the image of her on the wrong side of a force shield comes to him. "I remember you, on a mothership, on the other side of a force shield, trapped. I remember beating up an instrument panel with a shovel. I remember thinking you were going to die," he says incredulously - finally remembering something so huge that had passed between them.

"Tell me," he says, "why nobody thinks it's strange that you've been staying here with me."

"Daniel's stayed, too."

"Less than a quarter of the times you've stayed."

"You've been counting."

"It's easy math," and flashes her a small smile.

"SG-1 is a tight knit group. It's hard to infiltrate us. That's why no one's questioned it."

"But SG-1 isn't staying here. My subordinate officer, up until four days, was staying here. I don't remember much, but I think that sounds like something that shouldn't have been happening."

"You were released from the base under my supervision. And General Hammond trusts me. I've never..." she cleared her throat, "I've never given him any reason not to."

"Which is why there's nothing between us even though it feels like there should be."

"Yes, sir," she says quietly.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"You can drop the sir," he says taking a small step towards her.

Suddenly, she knows he's going to take that final step in and kiss her. So she takes a step back and the dark, purposeful look leaves his eyes. He looks a little confused for a moment, but then he seems to regroup.

She's glad he can regroup so quickly. Her mind is spinning with the idea that he was going to just kiss her. Right there in the middle of the kitchen. What was he thinking?!

Then she realizes that he's right. He's not  _sir_  and she can kiss him if she wants to. And she  _does_  want to. But still, it doesn't feel right. Not yet. Not while he still doesn't remember everything between them. It still feels disingenuous and like she is taking advantage.

"What else do you remember?" she asks him.

"How should I know?" he says with a cheeky grin. "Asking someone what they remember is like asking them what they forgot. Stuff is in here," he says tapping his head, "it just doesn't all make sense yet. I'm missing a lot of context."

Considering the question usually yielded a laundry list of new memories, she assumes he hadn't remembered anything new. "What if you get all your memories back and decide to go before the DBPR to appeal your discharge?"

"Gotta admit, that question is coming out of left field."

"You said I can drop the sir. And then, you... well, I think you were going to kiss me, sir."

"I was," he says seriously.

"But what if you appeal the discharge and get reinstated? Then what?"

"Then what, what?"

"What if I've dropped the sir, and what if we did kiss, and then what if things progressed, what if then you wanted your job back at the SGC?"

"That's a lot of what ifs."

"That you can't answer right now," she points out.

He heaves a long suffering sigh. "Okay. No dropping the sir, no kissing, and no progressing until we know whether or not I want my job back.  _If,"_ he says with a wave of his hand, "I even get all my memories back." He takes a casual step back and leans against the counter. "Is this really about what may happen in the future or is it about me, right now?"

"What do you mean?" She knows perfectly well what he means. He's thinking the same things she's been thinking.

"I mean does this have something to do with the way we used to feel versus the way we feel now and that it feels like you're cheating yourself?"

"I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt to think that what we had is gone."

"I remember how I felt looking at you through that force shield."

"But that's only part of our history."

"So tell me the rest."

"I don't..." want to, she thinks. She wants him to remember on his own. She wants to know his feelings for her are genuine, not something she mocked up because she wants him.

All those things must play out on her face because he says, "Okay," and doesn't sound as upset as she thought he might.


	11. Chapter 10

The next thing that comes back is her challenging him to arm wrestle. She looks so young and sounds so earnest that he thinks this must be back near the beginning of their time together.

She's gone home now. He's remembered enough to know what things he shouldn't say and why. Not all the missions are back, but they're returning more each day along with personal memories like his brother's memorial service and the day he graduated from high school.

They talk on the phone more than see each other in person. She's seemed to withdraw and he understands it, but he doesn't like it. So he asks her out to dinner and she says yes.

Though he doesn't remember getting his driver's license, he does remember how to drive. Much as Doctor Fraiser suggested, the things he learned stayed with him. Like tying his shoelaces, driving seems like a natural thing he can do with little thought.

He has to ask her, though, where they should go. She thinks about it, makes a joke about O'Malley's and he remembers why they can't go there. It's strange the way the memories make him smile when he realizes he has them - even the not so great ones. Though he's got to admit, watching her and Daniel kick ass that night makes for a pretty good memory. Mostly, he was just making sure things didn't get more out of hand than they already had. Sure, he threw a few guys into walls, but watching the way his teammates took down men bigger and meaner had sure made for a good night out.

They end up at a little Italian joint she doesn't know but says must be good because it looks like a dive but it's packed. He still has trouble remembering what he likes, so she orders for them both and he's pleased by the chicken parmesan she had them bring for him. Just to find out, even though she says he won't like it, he tries her eggplant. She laughs when he makes a face.

He likes that she knows the little things about him. It makes him feel comfortable and like he's home even though he knows they're not together in the way his brain insisted they must be. She tells him that you can't spend as many hours together as they have without picking up the details, but still it feels like part of his life is being hidden from him and that she's somehow complicit in that. She tries to reassure him she's not giving him the run around, but the way he feels when they're together tells him that, at the very least, he's never been very honest with her about how he felt.

"I'm remembering more," he tells her, and knows that even though it's only been six weeks, he really is feeling more like himself.

"Like what?"

"Like our missions, like the way you can sleep like the dead after you take first watch. And the way Daniel always makes your coffee when he has the last."

"You've been setting it up that way for a while," she tells him.

"Because the midwatches are easier on me and Teal'c."

"Teal'c, I'll buy," she says, "But you need sleep as much as the rest of us."

"There's not a lot of nice things I could do for you guys out in the field. And now it doesn't matter," and for the first time since his discharge he feels a pang of regret.

"That's the look I've been waiting for," she says quietly.

He wants to tell her that him wanting the SGC back doesn't mean he doesn't want her, but even if it doesn't mean he doesn't want it, it means he can't have it. One or the other. He gets her or he gets the SGC - maybe, if an appeal goes well - but he doesn't get to have both. "I can't lie to you and tell you that I don't think about what it would be like to get it all back, but I'm not naive. I know what I'd be giving up to get it."

"It'll be easier to give up something you never had than something you already know."

"I don't think that's true at all."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner had gone down hill after she'd seen the look on his face that told her he had regrets. She turns her wine glass around on the table in front of her and pushes the socks she is folding to one side so she can fold her arms on the table and put her head down. She groans. Why does this have to be so hard?

All she has to do is tell him she wants him. It isn't fair to let him think she's ambivalent and then be hurt if he decides to go back to the SGC. She wants him to have what he wants and it is far easier to give him the SGC and go back to the status quo than it is to take the chance to be with him. What if he chooses her and she isn't enough for him and he still regrets his decision? No, it would definitely be easier, and probably better for them both, if she takes herself out of the equation. She has lived this long with the abbreviated version of their relationship, she can last longer. Until maybe the fight is over and he retires, again, or she is able or willing to give up her commission, or things somehow change in some other regard. It won't be forever, it will just be for the foreseeable future. Oh, that doesn't help.

She reaches blindly for her wine and sits up to take a sip. She has no idea what to do.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He closes his eyes and sees, again, her face on the wrong side of a force shield. For the first time he focuses on the look in her eyes. It's not fear he sees, it's regret. It's... something else. There's worry there, because he won't leave her. Her fear, what little he can find, isn't for her, it's for him. She's worried what will happen to him if he won't leave her.

And he remembers how it felt. How he wasn't going to leave her, no matter what. He recognizes the feeling because he feels it now, when he thinks about saying yes to the idea of the SGC instead of to her. But that look on her face, it tells him so much. Like... how hard it must be for her to have lost him. He's not a conceited man, but a woman only looks at a man that way if she's in love with him, and it's more than he'd hoped for. He knew she had feelings for him, that had been apparent since the beginning. But love?

This whole thing had to be killing her. And it's no wonder she didn't want to remind him of their relationship. That she wanted him to remember her on his own. That she wanted to be sure his feelings were genuine and a reflection of all the years they'd served together and not the immediate attraction he had for her when he met her for the second time.

He dials her number. "I think we all knew this was going to be difficult for me," he says when she picks up. "But I don't think I realized how hard this was going to be for you."

She doesn't say anything but he can hear her sniffle, so he goes on. "You haven't said anything."

"What was I supposed to say?"

"I..." he pauses, "I don't really know."

"My difficulty with this is only a fraction of yours. You forgot your entire life."

"And you." He waits, but she doesn't say anything. "I didn't forget all of you. I remembered your voice. And your eyes." Great. Like that was helpful. "And you're the first one I trusted. That's got to say something for my brain, right?"

"I'm not angry with you, you don't have to convince me of anything."

"I think I do. And I think you should be."

"What?"

"Well, maybe not angry with me, but angry that this happened."

"What good will that do?"

"None," he says, "but at least you'd be letting out some of what you must be feeling."

"I process my feelings just fine."

"Really?"

"I don't need to cry all over everyone, Jack."

He takes a moment to appreciate the sound of his name on her lips, knowing it's not something she says that often even if he can't expressly remember whether or not she made a habit of calling him Jack under any specific circumstances. "Do you feel like crying?" he asks her.

"Oh, pretty much all the time," she says with a soggy, mirthless laugh.

"Don't hide from me, Sam."

"I haven't been hiding from you."

"Yes, you have."

"I don't know what makes you-"

"The way you looked at me through the force shield."

Silence greets him.

She breathes.

He waits her out.

"You remember that?"

"More details all the time."

"What do you want me to say?"

"That's the thing, you don't have to say anything."

She groans softly. "So what now?"

"So now you let me be the one who's fine for a while, okay?"

She exhales.


	12. Chapter 11

The decision actually comes fairly easily. After hearing the choked sound in her voice, it becomes a matter of settling into the idea of a life with her instead of the life he's slowly coming to remember. The information that he loves her is both new and old and because of that is very comforting. There's so much about his life now that has happened post-amnesia that decisions have to be made with both versions of himself in mind.

It's her. It's probably always been her. He likes to think that the only thing that kept them apart was their sense of duty, but he won't know for sure until he decides to put the moves on her. He worries that maybe the feelings between them were amplified by the fact that they couldn't be together. Maybe the forbiddenness made it seem like something they wanted more than they really did. Or her, because he's pretty sure he's always wanted her with the same intensity he feels now.

It becomes about the way she looks at him when they're together. And together is something he's been orchestrating a lot more of. No more disastrous dinner dates. As a matter of fact, things between them go well. Very well.

After three dates he kisses her and he thinks he now understands the concept of spontaneous combustion because he feels like he's on fire when her mouth opens under his. "I remember kissing you like this," he says in the small space between their mouths.

"We've never kissed," she says, confused.

"Yes, we did," he insists. "During the time loop."

She puts her hands on his chest and pushes him back gently. "You kissed me during the time loops?"

"What makes you think  _I_ kissed  _you_?" he teases, but he pulls her back to his mouth with a hand on the back of her head. "Are you crazy? Of course I kissed you."

"How?" she asks into his mouth.

He pulls back, "I resigned. Then, I-" he dips her and covers her mouth again with his own. She laughs.

Before things go too far, he's afraid of rushing her, they say goodnight and he leaves her in the entryway of her house looking flushed and tousled. He likes the look on her and he tells her making her blush all the way down into her dress.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He  _dates_  her for a long while. There are dinners, and tickets to all sorts of things, some heated necking in one of their houses or cars - his truck is better for that so they learn to take his - and flowers and, once, some candy that she laughed about. "Did you really send me candy?" she asks him over the phone and he sounds slightly affronted by her laughter.

"Yes. Yes, I did, Carter. Deal with it."

It feels good to hear him say her name in that same old way. She likes "Eyes," she likes "Sam," but she's always loved the way her surname came out of his mouth. It long ago became something more than just what he was supposed to call her.

She continues to take his name for a spin and rarely forgets and calls him "sir," but when she does his eyes darken a way that tells her it won't be long before he takes her to bed and she thinks about rolling out the honorific while tangled in his sheets and likes the way the thought makes her feel.

The first time they come close to sleeping together, he throws the brakes on when they're both out of their shirts. She's confused but he tells her he's not interested in rushing through the good stuff.

She tells him that maybe he's forgotten what the good stuff is and he assures her he hasn't with his mouth doing very distracting things on her belly just above the waistband of her jeans.

It takes two more heavy-petting session but she finally gets her bra off and he looks at her like she's a sculpture. It makes her feel strange so she tells him, "If you even want to look again, you'd better touch."

And he does. He touches with his hands, his fingertips, his tongue, but when she reaches for the button on his jeans he leans back from her, chest heaving, eyes heavy and dark and just shakes his head.

"This is getting old," she tells him. When his face falls she corrects, "Not this," waving a hand between them, "but the stopping. I'm a grown woman. I appreciate the slow approach, but Jack, this is getting ridiculous."

So he takes her to bed. It's not the quick, frantic coupling she'd always pictured, but he's slow and sweet and intense right when he needs to be and makes it so, so good that she wonders how she ever did without it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Once he's taken her bed it's like he can't get enough of her, and that's part of what he was worried about. He knew, once he'd tasted her, that their time together was going to become less getting-to-know-you and more getting-to-have-you. It's not that he doesn't enjoy the sex it's that he'd really enjoyed  _her._ And she's so busy that it's almost like they have to choose. When he tells her, she smiles at him sweetly and tells him the novelty is bound to wear off soon, but maybe he'd like to take her to dinner that night.

So he does and they both make it a point to spend at least half their time dressed - even if she considers dressed one of his t-shirts and his bed sheets. But he can't really say that he minds. She looks great in his sheets. They carry on that way for several months, she works, he makes sure dinner's on the table when she gets home and being with her starts to feel like less of a dream and more like normal was always supposed to have felt.

The guys get used to seeing them together and Daniel stops making jokes about two weeks in. Teal'c seems to think the whole thing is just fan-damn-tastic and finds the stupidest reasons to leave them alone together. But Jack doesn't mind. He likes being alone with her and he doesn't even care of he's the butt of some SG-1 jokes because he's the one that gets to go to bed with Sam every night.

In the end it seems like maybe it was all worth it, the weeks of having no idea who he was, having to relearn then re-remember what it was like to deal with some of the worst pain of his life, losing the SGC... It sounds cliché, even to him, but all roads did, eventually, lead to Sam.

She learns to open up to him, bit by bit. She starts sharing things with him that don't have anything to do with military Sam and have more to do with who she is as a person. He learns about her mother, about the decline of the relationship with her brother, and why things had seemed so strained with her father at first.

He tells her things as he remembers them. The memories of his childhood and his family seem to come last, she thinks it's because he'd done such a stellar job of burying them to begin with and that maybe it had been easier to do the things he'd needed to do over the years if he wasn't someone's son, someone's brother.

He finds a box of photographs in his spare room when she's moving in and inside are piles of pictures of his brother and a few military mementos he thinks maybe his mother should have. When he calls her to tell her he has them she sounds confused. "Yes, son, I know." And he finds out he's not that close to his mother anymore, probably hasn't been in a long time. "I'm sorry, mom," he tells her when it's time to get off the phone and she just hangs up and he wonders, a lot about how that relationship went sour.

After it all, after most of his memories are his again, he ends up with Sam completely and it matters less that the relationship with his mother doesn't seem to fit into any of the slots left in his brain. He wonders if he ever really knew what happened between them. So he focuses on what he can, works with Doctor Fraiser and some hypnotherapist to fill in the blanks and, soon, he's about as complete as he can be.

In the end, he's whole and happy.


	13. Epilogue

It takes about six months for the SGC to come knocking, but by now they've been married for three months and there isn't much the Air Force can do about their relationship.

Sam's the  _oops, but we're happy_  kind of pregnant and relegated to base and SG-1 needs him and all his memories back. Luckily, he's got all his memories, or at least the ones that matter to the United States military, back. He passes his physical fairly easily considering he's been flying house-husband duties for the better part of a year.

His mother passed about a month before he got his gear-up orders, so now it's just him, Sam and whoever is swimming around in her belly but it feels like he's got a lot more to leave behind now than ever before. He's older now, understands better what it means to be part of family, to be a husband and a father, and he knows how tenuous those connections can be. He tries not to think about what happens if it all goes south when he straps on a P-90 and a zat gun and takes his place in front of the gate.

It's strange to walk through while Sam sits in the control room next to Walter and the General and a green captain has taken her place. It's not the SG-1 he remembers, but, he likes the kid, he thinks, so he figures they'll make it work. Daniels so much stronger now and Teal'c has always been a force to be reckoned with.

They go, they meet, they come back and Sam's asleep in their bed when he makes his way quietly into their bedroom. She's always slept like the dead but pregnant, she's worse. But she wakes nicely when he leans over to kiss her temple and she rolls into him, curling her body around his hip and burying her face in his pants near his knee.

"You're home," she says sleepily.

"Yep, late, but home."

"I was worried," she says.

He chuckles. "I can see that."

"I was," she insists. "But I'm so tired these days."

"It's okay," he tells her. "Go back to sleep."

"You're okay?"

"A-Okay," he says. "Got all four of us back without so much as a scraped knee."

"Good. You like Captain Brown?"

"Yep. He's a good kid."

"He's not a kid. He's the same age I was when I joined SG-1."

"You were a kid, too."

"I was not," she says and yawns.

"Go back to sleep."

"I'll wait for you," she says but turns over onto her other side, towards his side of the bed, and burrows down into the blankets.

"Sure you will, Eyes."

And he sees her smile before he gets up to get ready for bed.


End file.
